


Dance With Me

by thesolemneyed



Series: Minghao Dancer Series [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, Drabble, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesolemneyed/pseuds/thesolemneyed
Summary: He knows he’s getting close when his lungs start to feel heavy. When it feels like he’s swum too deep or he’s climbed too high. He becomes aware of his own heartbeat, sloshing in his ears and at the base of his throat. It would feel like panic, like fear, if it didn’t feel like coming home.He reaches the clearing.He holds his breath.The dancer is there.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: Minghao Dancer Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127771
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Dance With Me

Sometimes, if he walks late enough at night and the stars are feeling kind, he is lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

The first change he is aware of is the wind picking up around him, pulling at his clothes like a child trying to tempt its mother into indulging it. The creak and groan of the trees seem to be more easily carried on this wind, creating a mournful symphony of groans. There are none of the warm sounds the forest holds on other nights; no sweep of watchful owls overhead or easy rustle of leaves. 

Within the whisper of the wind and the creak of the trees, he starts to sense something more rhythmic. Something like plucking, strumming. A vibration low in his chest that urges his heartbeat a little faster. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it almost sounds like music.

He doesn’t know any better.

It’s almost completely dark by this point. The stars have heeded the warning and retreated behind heavy, protective clouds. The moon peeks bravely through gaps and gifts just enough of a glow that he never loses his footing completely. 

Occasionally, he’ll take a wrong turn, steer off a path he didn’t know he was following and the music will become a little duller, his heart will still a little in his chest. He alters his course until he manages to lose the rising sense of panic that boils just above his diaphragm.

He knows he’s getting close when his lungs start to feel heavy. When it feels like he’s swum too deep or he’s climbed too high. He becomes aware of his own heartbeat, sloshing in his ears and at the base of his throat. It would feel like panic, like fear, if it didn’t feel like coming home. 

He reaches the clearing. 

He holds his breath. 

The dancer is there. 

It’s always the same dance; always the same music. Maybe he’s been dancing for months or maybe for centuries. He never falters, never hesitates, never differs. The dancer’s eyes are closed. He is beautiful. 

It always leaves him wanting. The dance never seems quite complete even when the music fades and the stars resume their place in the sky and the dancer fades between one heartbeat and the next.

But not this time.

“Dance with me.”

The dancer is looking straight at him, eyes the colour of a bonfire on the edge of burning out. He’s standing perfectly still, the breeze that moves the trees leaving him untouched. 

“Dance with me.” 

In a blink he’s right in front of him, one pale hand outstretched. He looks at this hand, devoid of any warmth, and thinks of his own. His own with a small scar on the little finger, hard callouses on the palms, sweaty and imperfect. 

He shakes his head.

“Why?” 

The dancer’s voice is flat although it’s a question. As though he knows that he can’t think of any reason to object. He can’t think of any reason to want to leave. One foot twitches, aching to cross into the clearing but doesn’t quite make it off the ground.

The dancer begins to move away, the stars already growing brighter.

“Wait.” 

He’s in the clearing now, but his feet don’t feel like they have moved. The tips of his fingers are cold and numb. His mouth tastes of pennies.

“I’d like to dance with you.” 

The dancer turns. The light in his eyes is darker now, more smoke than bonfire. He twists his lips into an elegant imitation of a smile.

“Do you know the dance?” 

The question is breath in his ear this time. The dancer not quite touching him but still crawling all over his skin. He can’t blink, can’t swallow, can’t feel his hands. 

He nods.

Not even the moonlight can break through the clouds now and the dancer’s teeth glint in the darkness.

“What’s your name?”

The question feels like it has passed hundreds of years and thousands of miles to reach him. 

“Soonyoung.” 

A cold, bony hand encircles his wrist. 

“Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Minghao's Contemporary Art video and was absolutely overcome. 
> 
> This is the first thing I've published in years please be gentle with me ;_;
> 
> I'm on twitter (@thesolemneyed)!


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